


Only One

by Long_Live_The_Chocolate



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: But its not Connor that dies dw, Emotional Hurt, Filler, Gen, How Do I Tag, Murder, short story?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Long_Live_The_Chocolate/pseuds/Long_Live_The_Chocolate
Summary: After Hank leaves Cyberlife Connor decides there cannot be a repeat of his encounter with Connor model 60.  So to prevent anyone else from being hurt he decides he needs to do something about it.





	Only One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, this is my first D:BH piece ever and I wanted to share it with someone. This is also only a part of a larger fic that I’m currently writing to try and show how I think Connor would deal with his guilt. This particular scene is set after Hank leaves Cyberlife and before Connor marches to Hart Plaza. I’m sorry in advance if you liked the Connor duo and Nines - because I just don’t, sorry. Please point out any mistakes or inconsistencies if you do notice them and give me feedback please I want to improve this story as much as I can.
> 
> TL;DR - feedback would be wonderful! Thank you!

Stepping out of the blood splattered lift, gun held loosely by his side, he scanned the rows of unoccupied display pedestals.  Towards the farthest end of the room were several motionless androids. The RK800s meant to succeed him should he fail his mission.  The pedestals were neat and claustrophobic, most sporting blood red text on a glass display tablet detailing where, when and why the model had failed.  The first read:  _ MARK (I) - RK800 #313 248 317 - 1.  Deactivated. 2036 March 7th.  _ _ 2648 W Grand Blvd, Detroit _ _.  Inefficient, incapable of negotiating with deviant androids - severe glitches.  Improvement required.  _

 

He remembered this room.  Where he first woke up, mission clear in his mind.  Save the hostage. A singular pedestal stood out among the others, with neon blue text reading:  _ MARK (LI) - RK800 #313 248 317 - 51.  Active _ .  This was floor -47, the RK series development floor.

 

His hands were shaking - were they supposed to shake?  He didn’t know. He didn’t have time to know. He had to be fast.  If he wasn’t fast enough he wouldn’t make back to Markus in time. If he wasn’t fast enough Cyberlife could deploy another RK series android.  If he wasn’t fast enough Hank could die. Markus could die. His people could die. 

 

It was with his shaking hands that he aimed the agent’s gun - the dead man’s gun - and pointed it at the RK800.  The gunshots echoed loud in the spacious, white room. Mark 52, Mark 53, 54, 55, they all dropped their identical chins to their chests.  Their CPU’s destroyed, and unable to reactivate, he’d made sure of that. 59 dropped last, 60 lay dead already. He kept moving. His movements faster, smoother than a humans, but slow and inefficient to his advanced sensors.  Stored behind the 800s were the 900s. Faster, stronger; better. 

 

_ His Replacements. _

 

A foreign sensation coursed through his body, his eyebrows furrowing and his stance tightening.  Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. He shot them one by one. Fewer in number than his own series, though nearly identical.  It was the eyes that made them different. Cold, logical blue against his own muggy brown ones.

 

He discarded the gun, travelling briskly back to the awaiting androids.  His face the picture of determination. His people followed him without hesitation as he led them past the awe struck agents, towards the epicenter of the revolution.  His hands clenched into fists to hide the tremors that wracked through them. 


End file.
